Puzzle Pieces
by Tarafina
Summary: She completed the puzzle... :Chloe/Dean:


**Title**: Puzzle Pieces  
**Rating**: T  
**Genre**: Angst/Friendship/Romance/Family  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Dean  
**Prompt**: "The scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow."  
**Summary**: She completed the puzzle...

**_Puzzle Pieces_**

1/1

The scarlet of blood is a stark contrast to the pure white snow. Sam stared at them with wide eyes, back and forth, expecting something to change but nothing happened. Dean was covered in blood and not breathing, just as he'd been when a silently crying Chloe knelt at his side, her hands spread out along the deep gashes and tears streaming down her face. There was a bright light that blinded him momentarily and then... nothing. Now there was a dead Chloe at his side and he didn't know what the hell that meant.

"It'll be all right," she told him. "I promise." And then she was leaning over Dean and seconds later, she was joining him.

In Sam's dictionary, that didn't mean "all right." Not at all.

He was lost and alone and he never felt more desperate for some kind of miracle in his life. They were all he had left. One minute he had them both, then only one, and now he had neither. It wasn't clicking; it was impossible. He kept staring, waiting, like a lost puppy who's owner went around a corner and never returned. He didn't know what to do; his mind went blank and his breathing stilled. He just stared; down at them in their halo of snow and blood.

And then Dean stirred and sat up, ram rod straight, gasping for air with his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

"D-Dean!" Sam sputtered, falling to his knees next to his brother. "Y-You're..." He couldn't even manage words, he was elated and shocked and so many different emotions, he wasn't sure there were names for them all.

Dean didn't reply, instead dragging his shirt up, his hands touching his stomach and Sam stared with furrowed brows at the blood that marred his stomach where there were no longer any wounds. He was completely solid, not even a scar to show what had happened. But how...?

And then Dean was turning, staring down at the unmoving form of his girlfriend, her hands covered in his blood and her skin chalk white.

"I-I-I didn't know what to do," Sam managed. "She just... She leaned over and then... Then she was gone... I... I'm sorry."

He knew how much Dean loved her; he might not say it but he did. She was probably the only person keeping him sane these last few years. Sam envied that in her sometimes and others appreciated that she stuck around. With all the crap that went on around them, he was surprised she didn't just take off back to her much easier life in Metropolis. But she didn't. She hung around through all the bad, helping them when she could, and embraced the good times with them over beer and pool. She was an unofficial team member and she fit just fine.

She and Dean danced around their feelings for a very long and frustrating year until one morning Sam woke up and found them in the same bed, their clothes scattered all over and he knew they'd finally crossed that thin line and since then they hadn't turned back. They had their fights and their miscommunications, but in the end, they were Dean and Chloe and they fit together. Up until now, where she was dead, seemingly in place of Dean, and Sam felt like somehow he'd messed up. Because he _knew _if there was a decision over who should live and who should die, Dean would've told him to keep Chloe alive and let him go. But he hadn't made that choice, she did, and he felt like he screwed up by not interfering somehow, even if he didn't know how it all worked.

He knew she had powers, he'd seen them a few times. She healed herself and occasionally, she fixed up a few of Dean's or his wounds, but never anything this big. This was probably why. His eyes stung and his stomach rolled. There was so much death; all the time. He'd just gotten his brother back and now he felt like he was losing his best friend; his partner.

Chloe had been right there next to him for the last two years. She helped him prank Dean when the war started up again and even convinced his brother to let him drive from time to time. That unfortunately led to the two of them making out in the backseat, but as long as he got to drive, he didn't really care. She was someone to bounce ideas off of; someone who didn't constantly antagonize him for being smart or wanting to further his education. She was funny and intelligent and a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stagnant breathing ground. And she made him homemade chicken soup when he got sick! That was... huge! But most of all, she took care of Dean; beyond everything, that was what made her special. She loved him and understood him and never once let him think that he wasn't worth fighting for or staying with or all those other things his older brother seemed to worry over. Dean always put himself second, believing he didn't matter as much as the rest, but Chloe showed him he did.

The winter breeze seemed colder now, slipping through his jacket easily and chilling him to his bones. She laid there, looking so peaceful, surrounded by white on one side and Dean's bloody mess on the other. Her hair fell in a curl filled halo around her head. Ten or so feet away was the demon they'd been hunting, dead and with very little chance of ever resurrecting. Everything had been going fine until Sam had been thrown and Dean was distracted, making him an open target. He was torn up and bleeding out before Sam could gather a breath to shout to him. Blind rage took him over and he was up and killing the deranged demon with fierce determination. But it didn't change the fact that Dean was dead and when he got closer, he realized there was nothing he could do. It felt like the hell hounds all over again, with him lying there so still and his eyes staring out blankly.

She stepped up calmly; didn't look scared or regretful, just sad and resolved.

He wished he'd said something; asked her what she was doing, something, anything.

"Dean," he choked out, his voice shaking as he stared at his brother, hunched over his dead girlfriend. He wasn't saying anything or moving, except for the hand that cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking beneath her eye, as if he was waiting for her to just open them, look up at him, call him an idiot for getting himself killed and shake it off. He knelt there, unfeeling of the cold snow beneath his knees, the freezing wind that blew around him.

"Dean," he repeated, more questioningly.

His brother shook his head, gathered her up in his arms, and held her close to his chest. "Let's go," he told him roughly, walking away from the blood drenched snow and toward the Impala, parked and waiting for their getaway. Sam could do nothing but follow.

They drove for what seemed like hours, her body laid out in the back as if she was just napping. He looked back and forth from her to his brother, who hadn't said anything since. He'd laid her down gently, put his jacket over her as if to keep her warm and then started driving. She was whiter than ever, her lips tinged a bluish grey, eyes closed tight, final. Sometimes, when Dean kept her up all night, she used to nap in the back. She'd curl up in Dean's jacket, sprawl out in the back with a tuque pulled down over her eyes to keep the sun out and just doze. But this wasn't one of those times; she wouldn't be waking up from this. With a loud yawn, a stretch of her arms and an, "I'm hungry," to be heard.

"We can't just keep driving," he told him, eyes falling.

His brother didn't reply. He was the king of avoidance, but this was a little much, even for him.

He glanced at him and then turned away once more. "You know what we have to do..."

Again, no response.

"We'll have to burn the body, Dean," he sighed, clenching his eyes closed tightly.

"She'll wake up," he told him, voice low. He didn't look at him, just stared right ahead at the road. His hand gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned a pale white.

Sam stared at him. How does one respond to that? The dead didn't wake up and if they did, they were never the same as the person who died.

Figuring his brother was in denial, he tried to use the most understanding voice he had. "No... She won't, Dean. She's gone." He felt like he was talking to one of the many people they helped; trying to explain a very sad situation to them about their loved one.

Dean glared at him. "She'll wake up. She always does."

Sam turned back to stare out at the road, having no words to reply with. Part of him wanted to believe his brother was just in shock, while another part wondered if maybe there was more to her powers than he knew. He decided not to ask any more questions; he'd give it a little while and if she still wasn't awake, he'd have to force some sense into him. He loved Chloe too; she was practically already a family member. Given the circumstances, it might never have been made official, but she and Dean had that 'lasting' look about them.

He kept quiet until it had nearly been sixteen hours and then he couldn't any more. "Dean... She's not coming back."

"She will," he replied, although this time he didn't sound quite as certain. He'd been driving the whole time, stopping only for gas and then getting back on the road before anybody could spot anything out of the ordinary. He hadn't spoken since and now he sounded so... vulnerable. So unlike him. "She always does," he whispered.

Sam looked away, staring out the car window. He didn't want to burn or bury her either... He didn't want to believe that she was gone. What he wanted was to hear her and his brother bantering, even if it was filled with sexual innuendos and small little jabs at his own lack of a social life. He wanted to hear her laugh, see his brother grin at her. And he'd roll his eyes as they used the back seat as their own little make out point, completely ignoring him. He wanted to hear her grumble about diner food and smell the smoke as she tried to make something more elaborate than KD. He wanted to hear her running commentary on the unusual wallpaper in their next motel room or the shag carpeting that was left over from the 70's. What he didn't want was the silence, the overhanging depression that seemed to layer the inside of the Impala.

It'd been years since it felt this dark; since his brother looked this lost. It'd been years since he remembered sitting in the Impala without Chloe challenging them to some weird road trip game. Pedittle or I Spy were for normal people; she came up with demon trivia and tested them on their knowledge. Whoever got the most points got to pick the next restaurant and the one who got the least, paid. It was better than mullet rock and brooding and dark, suffocating silences. And now that he knew what it was like, now that he'd seen his brother get as close as he'd come to settling down and being truly happy, he didn't want to go back. He didn't want to return to those dismal days that dragged on; back to the knowledge that it was just another day closer to a war or one more step nearer to his or Dean's death. She made it better; she made it lighter.

His eyes stung and his jaw quaked. He couldn't go back... He needed her to wake up. He closed his eyes, his mind warring over the idea. If she woke up, would she still be Chloe? And if she didn't wake up? What then? He could barely think of it.

They were like a puzzle and before, he and Dean had gotten by on the pieces that they had and then she came along and she helped finish Dean's half of the puzzle. She filled all the little empty spaces and she helped hold Sam's ready-to-fall-apart half too. Not in the same way as Dean, but she helped mend a few things, helped lighten the load. And now the puzzle was back to being broken, with even more pieces missing, the ones designated solely to her and he couldn't quite function; he'd gotten so used to her being there, to her holding them together, that now he was afraid that without her, they'd finally break, never to be put back together again. Humpty Dumpty had nothing on the Winchesters.

Another two hours passed, still with no movement or sudden resurrection from the fallen woman in the backseat and he was starting to get anxious. What if they got pulled over? A dead girl in the car was going to make things more than a little suspicious. Or what if Dean just refused to believe she was gone? Eventually, her body was going to decay and rot and... He nearly vomited in the car, thinking so harshly of a woman he'd been close to for so long. He swallowed tightly, breathing in and out harshly, trying to get the vivid images out of his head.

"Dean?" he said quietly.

"She _will _wake up," he yelled, turning to glare at him but Sam saw the tears, pooling at the bottom of his eyes. His breathing was ragged now and he was visibly shaking. He shook his head, clenching his jaw, and then he pulled the car over jarringly. And they just sat there, with nothing but Dean's harsh breathing and reality closing in.

Dean shook his head, slamming his hands down against the steering wheel and shaking it to get some of his pent up anger out. And Sam tried to look away but he couldn't, instead watching his brother as he yelled and screamed and bent his head low, covering his face against the steering wheel, beneath his arms. His back shook, shoulders tightening as he tried to keep the fear and loss from showing. He didn't _do _emotion, but when it finally showed, there was nothing but a shattered man to show for it. He pushed the door open abruptly and crawled out of the car, running his hands through his hair and taking deep breaths of air, trying to calm himself, but nothing was helping.

Sam stepped out of the car hesitantly, eyes darting around as if the answer to how to help his brother would be sitting there on the road, waiting for him. But Dean was pacing, back and forth across the empty highway, his face a mixture of anger and terror. After all that had happened, all they'd been through, Sam figured it was one incredibly cruel trick of fate that Dean finally found someone to fit him, only to lose her. Just like everybody else in their lives, she was added to the long list of those who died for them. For being close and caring and not walking away when things got tough; for completing the puzzle. It wasn't right.

"She said..." Dean choked out, kicking the ground beneath him. He bent low, kneeling in the middle of the road, his head bowed, his hand lifted to his hair, arm covering his face.

Sam walked closer, his mouth opening and closing, the right words nowhere to be found. What was there to say?

And then he heard it. He came to an abrupt and shocked stop, his eyes widening as he turned around quickly.

There was a sudden gasp and then Chloe's body lurched forward to sit upright in the backseat of the Impala.

Sam turned back to Dean and then stared at the woman he was sure wouldn't come back.

His brother was running, fast across the asphalt and tearing the back door open. His hand hooked around Chloe's thigh, dragged her forward until she was nearly out of the car, just hanging out the side. She didn't look surprised by his welcome, only sorry. He could already hear his brother ranting and raving already, when he'd finally calmed down from her loss and sudden return, telling her not to ever do it again. And she'd agree, but he knew Chloe, and she'd do it again in the future. Even if she knew that time she might not wake up.

Dean's arms wrapped around her waist tightly, his face burying against her lap while her fingers ran through his hair softly, comforting him as he let out all the fear he'd built up. He felt like he was interrupting a private moment for a second. Her head was bowed and she was whispering something to him, running her hand up and down the back of his neck. He'd seen them like this before, just less emotional. With Chloe lying across the bed, flicking through the channels on the crappy motel TV while Dean's head rested in her lap, half asleep and slowly being lulled away by her fingers running over the nape of his neck. It was one of those rare moments were he saw his brother as less of a big bad demon hunter and more of a regular man.

He found himself hoping desperately that Chloe never died because he wasn't sure his brother could take it. Tonight was a reflection of that and it didn't look good. It was obvious that Dean had fallen hard for the former reporter and he didn't plan on getting up.

Wearily, Chloe smiled gently up at Sam as he walked closer. He was a little uncertain about how he was feeling; not sure how to react to a woman he was sure was dead. Should he ask her how or why or just leave it alone? Usually when a person comes back from death, they end up killing them. But this circumstance was a little different. Still, he was hesitant.

She reached out one of her hands, palm up and he took it, feeling the warmth back in her skin where previously she'd been so cold.

"It'll be all right," she told him, her voice oddly raspy. He stared at her, the tears that he hadn't let fall finally escaping down his face. "I promise."

He nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. He trusted her. And the puzzle stayed in tact just a little longer.

* * *

**Author's Note**: _Well, my hiatus has ended earlier than expected. My best friend had to go home due to a medical problem and so I'm back to writing... I've actually had this done for awhile, it just needed a little editing. Hope you liked it. Reviews are sustenance, readers, so let me know what you think! Luv yas - Fina!_


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